We have been hanging out in Alabaster, enjoying wedging our superheroes' feet in between bricks and hanging princesses upside down by their hair.That's the kind of end-of-the-day play I can really handle lately.
I have heard the term Helicopter Mom the past few days for the first time. Apparently, this is a common term. I totally understand the inspiration behind and labeling of that kind of parenting.
I'm not a Helicopter Mom, however. I am more of a C130 Mom.
My problem with my new title is that I am not sure if a C130 can hover appropriately. Uncle Brad, a little help?
Uncle Brad flies C130's in the Air Force so it happens to be the only plane I can call by name. I know it is huge, it holds tons of cargo, and it's kinda old.
I jive with all of those things.
I like to think that I can carry around a lot of cargo in case anyone needs anything (wipes, tissues, Tic Tacs, Altoids, screwdriver, notebook, black pen, granola bar, CapriSun, etc.), or have room to pick up any extra kid to come home with us or to drop off somewhere. I also like to think I can hover in the necessary position until reassured that all are safe. This is all normal, neurotic parenting, right?
So it's okay that while we were sitting outside balancing our toys in the bricks, we were watching about 8 neighborhood kids race down the hill in a plastic car whose battery had been removed so they sped assisted by gravity, making the 90 degree turn they pulled at the bottom of the hill - the turn that made the car screech sideways on 2 plastic wheels - the thrill of everyone's life. Except mine.
I watched Henry and Svea wondering when they were going to ask about getting a turn in that car. I seriously had to pop some antacid chewables while we watched and listened, wondering if my C130 self would be able to move fast enough, calling 911 on my cell while running to stop the bleeding of the multiple head, face and body injuries that were sure to come.
They never asked to participate. No neighborhood kids were hurt on my "watch."
Henry did say, "They are making good decisions by taking turns in that car, but maybe they are making a bad decision going down that hill."
Hooray for already instilling fear! Hooray for delaying our talks on self-destruction and wild play and how it scares his mom so he has to wait a little longer for that freedom! Hooray for calm play at the end of the day when I am 8 months pregnant! Hooray that we can work all this out in a few years with a therapist!
Until then, I'll continue hovering, C130-style.